A Tide In The Affairs of Men
by Currente.Calamo
Summary: Exploration of the interplay of fate and free will in human life, from the early omens of Chloe's and Oliver's futures to their eventual entanglement. Will follow canon as a backbone, but fill in a lot of blanks, don't know how far it will go.
1. The End Is Where We Start From

**TITLE: A Tide in the Affairs of Men (1/?)**

**Rating: R/M**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights. Kudos to Smallville writers and producers.**

**Summary: Exploration of the interplay of fate and free will in human life, from the early omens of Chloe's and Oliver's futures to their eventual entanglement. Will follow canon as a backbone, but fill in a lot of blanks, don't know how far it will go.**

**Feedback is greatly appreciated :)**

_**There is a tide in the affairs of men**__._

_Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;_

_Omitted, all the voyage of their life_

_Is bound in shallows and in miseries._

_We must take the current when it serves,_

_Or lose our ventures._

Julius Caesar, Shakespeare

_**PROLOGUE.**_

_"How do I know when to let go?"_, she asks in a whisper, scared to break the charged silence.

_"It's all about your heart",_ he answers in the same tone, getting closer, gliding his hand along her arm, encasing her hand, and she can feel his pulse as much as she can hear her own beating insistently against her ear drums. With another caress, he urges on: _"Just listen"_.

She gulps, realization washing over her. It is just a touch, a light brush of the fingers; it doesn't seem to be much, but it's enough to make them wonder what's in store for them. The sensation is amplified, the inkling becomes a rush, and the small waves their senses have acknowledged gather and grow, more inviting than ever, throbbing in their insides. And, albeit subconsciously, they know that somehow, everything has brought them here, that their shipwrecked rafts floating adrift in the moonlight after all the storms that have eaten at them are presented with this one chance to sail away by fusing with each other, by succumbing to the deep gravitational pull between them and this mysterious one that has the water rising. It is excruciatingly tempting to jump at this chance, at one another, to merge their battered souls and move together, frantically, in search of that sense of entity that has remained elusive for both of them, to find a release.

_"Right there in between the beats."_

The tide is certainly theirs for the taking, but the tension is still there, thick and heavy, and their scorched beings hold on to what remains, afraid to lose what little they have left, unsure whether their rafts would survive another voyage. It is still their move, more so hers than his because he had already decided to stop going against the flow. The temperature has reached its peak, the strong rhythmic pulsing of their hearts are in sync and they now have to either omit what's staring them in the face or venture out of their walls into each other.

And as she slowly, silently exhales, poised to engage on the flood, he gives her that last push to take her with him: _"That's when you let go"._

* * *

_**CHAPTER 1. THE END IS WHERE WE START FROM**_

_What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from_.* In both their cases, an agonizing ending came early on, the first of many thorns to tear through their fragile, human skin.

**Star City, October 13th, 1989**

A heavy rain was pounding against the stained glass of the Queen manor's windows, and while such weather was, in California, a scarce occurrence, it oddly suited the internal tremor of the almost 8 year-old blonde pouting boy who had his forehead plastered to his window, looking out morosely at his parents' arriving limousine which would depart again tomorrow morning without him. He had tried distracting himself with the bow and arrow play set that his father had bought him this summer and that he had carried around everyday since then, but it only reminded him of how desperate he had been for his father to actually take more than a few minutes to teach him. Instead, his father trekked across the world even more frequently than usual, his mother always tagging along, and he really started to crave some attention, especially from his busy and increasingly distressed dad. When they brought him with them to what he thought would be a breezy family vacation, he ended up at the Luthor mansion, a murky place filled with war antiquities and imposing Persian carpets, where all he could do to pass time was play hide seek in with Lex, Jason and Patricia, whom he saw only once a year, while their fathers locked themselves away in their study, and their mothers supposedly went shopping with the exception of Lionel's ill wife.

When the archery practice only made him yearn more for his father's company, he had turned to the Robin Hood's illustrated chronicles in hopes of avoiding his boring reality to plunge himself in the adventures of the hero-thief who fought for the weak . Unfortunately, that did not have the desired effect either, because it reminded him of his mother's soft voice lulling him to sleep while she read the real story, reminding him to always put other others ahead of himself. The idea he usually willingly embraced currently did not bode well, because he wanted to be selfish and ask his parents to stay with him, or at least to allow him to tag along instead of sending him away to boarding school. _"Ollie, your education is the only thing that can never be taken from you"_, his mother's voice of reason sounded again in his head, but he shut it out because right now, all he wanted was his parents, and he was extremely angry with them for dictating his life and, these last months, keeping him in the outskirts of theirs. What was so important that they could not take a break, and decided to send him away, instead of standing by his side while he went to school somewhere near his home? Desperate and fuming, he had gone to the window, reluctantly awaiting their return, because their presence would be, once again, brief.

"Oliver", called his nanny behind him.

"What?", he sulkily answered, knowing full well what she came to announce.

"Your _papa_ is home, dear."

"I don't care!"

"You don't mean that and you know it", she chided him gently, knowing he always dealt with sadness and disappointment by channeling it into anger.

Soon after, he heard his father's steps down the hall, undoubtedly headed his way, and he braced himself to show his clear disapproval with the situation.

"Where's my little man?", sounded the grave, powerful but loving voice of Robert Queen behind him. "Ollie?", he prodded when his son did not make a move to acknowledge his presence. "Come on, pal. I haven't seen you in a week. Give your dad a hug."

At that, Oliver slowly turned around, morphing his facial expression to appear impassive, and crossed his arms to take a stance intended for sending a message to his father: he would not budge or pretend acceptance of the turn of events.

Robert smirked at the picture his spiky haired son painted, with his strong set of shoulders and the steely look of determination in his eyes behind which he could see the same fire that guided him in his own endeavors. _One day, he will make a fierce leader, _he thought. _I only hope he finds a woman like Laura to remind him of what's good in life when he succumbs to these mood swings and to challenge his stubbornness. He's already a handful like his dad. _With a more serious voice, he tried again to break this vow of silence his fireball of a son had taken: "Going to school is a little more important than going on a trip with your mom and me."

"But I wanna see where Genghis Khan is from!", he complained, whining, trying a different strategy, knowing his father indulged him when he mentioned his ancient idols, and the Mongolian conqueror with his archery skills was certainly one of them. At this moment however, he couldn't care less about Seoul's historical figures - not that he did not relish in the inspirational tales his father has fed to his curious mind and aspiring heart - but he knew they were headed there tomorrow to meet with South Korea's Prime Minister.

Robert chuckled at this change of tactics, and his son's theatrics. _Not only stubborn, but manipulative and dramatic. God help him! _"He'll still be from there, after you finish the school year", he reasoned. His son's face twisted in annoyance, so he chose this moment to kneel in front of him and pull from behind his back a significantly more sophisticated bow than the one he had given him at the beginning of this summer, with a whole new set of arrows, meant as a birthday gift and to appease his temper. When the boy's eyes widened in surprise and in awe, he felt a twinge of relief; maybe his son would not hold a grudge against him for much longer. "These are just like the ones Genghis Khan used", he told him in a placating voice, handing him the set.

However, while Oliver, entranced, had taken the gift, these words only reminded him of the cause of his sorrow, and his anger bubbled to the surface again: "I don't want a stupid bow and arrow!", he exclaimed, throwing the precious artifact on the hard-wood floor. "I wanna go with you!".

Hurt by the outburst, Robert got up, and addressed his son firmly now: "You have a funny way of showing it." More gently, he reminded him: "I'm here right now, Ollie."

But Oliver would not be swayed, and he no longer made a show of indifference or pleading: "And you're leaving again tomorrow morning! Without me, like always!", he finished, storming out of his room.

Overwhelmed, Robert closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure by listening to the pounding rain, but it only reminded him of the struggle he had endured during the last months, as the prophesied date approached and as more and more weight was put on his shoulders. He worked so hard to ensure this world's, his family's safety and well being, but he kept being reminded of the sacrifices he was making. As he wished his son would one day understand and forgive him, an announcement on the intercom put an end to his musings: "Mr. Queen, your guest has arrived."

Later that evening, Oliver was sitting in a large hallway of the manor, playing with his Warrior Angel and Devilicus figures. "Please, help us!", he screamed holding a plane that he drove towards the floor, making crash noises. "It's too late. Warrior Angel can't save you now!". As he was about to bring the hero to the rescue, he heard voices down the hall.

"We just can't trust him anymore", his father's weary voice resonated.

"We were beginning to sense that", a woman responded.

Dropping his toys, Oliver noiselessly made his way toward the slightly opened door. He could see his dad engulfed in an armchair, eyes glassy turned towards the fireplace, with, to his surprise, Patricia's mother by his side in the other seat.

"The seeds of fascism were watered by altruism, Bridget.", Robert continued. "I fear he's pushing us down a similar path. We formed this group to wield our wealth and power towards a greater purpose, to protect that dangerous secret and help the traveler on his mission. But I don't think Lionel understands that it is bigger than all of us. His thirst for power is growing, and I don't know if he will resist the temptation."

"I'll make sure Virgil knows where you stand", said the woman reassuringly.

"Swann is lucky to have you. We all are.", observed Robert with a little smile at this acceptance.

"The feeling is mutual. You are a critical part of this endeavor. And so is Laura."

"Eavesdropping is gonna make you a heck of a crime fighter one day". Oliver jumped at the sound of his mother's voice behind him. He had the grace to look sheepish. His mother's amused expression morphed into a more serious set of features, but her voice remained gentle, as it always did when she lectured him: "But not a very trusted leader."

"I'm not talking to you either", Oliver replied half-heartedly, distancing himself. He had more trouble being brash with his mother.

"Ollie…", Laura silkily called. "You know your education…"

"...is the only thing that can't be taken away from me. Yeah, yeah. I know, and I don't care."

"I know you don't want to be held back at school. You don't want Geoffrey and Alden to be a year ahead, do you?"

"You know what I really want?", Oliver continued, fighting to not waver at his mother's soothing methods. "No parents!", he stated childishly. "That way, I can't be left behind."

"Oliver Jonas Queen!", Laura scolded, raising her voice a bit. "Be careful what you wish for."

With a pang of guilt, but not strong enough to override his resentment, Oliver fled away to his room and closed himself in. During the night, in his slumber, he felt his mother's lips pressing against his forehead. "I love you", she whispered. "Love you…", he mumbled in his sleep, fading once again into unconsciousness.

When the morning came, and Oliver woke up slowly and walked up to the window. The rain had slowed down, but the skies did not seem to have cried enough yet. Looking down at the grand entrance, he saw his father holding an umbrella, opening the car's door for his mother. Laura looked up to her son's room, and Robert followed suit. They both smiled tentatively upon seeing him, waving their goodbye. Oliver could not smile, but he placed his hand against the glass in acknowledgement, an emptiness washing over him at their departure. Little did he know, it was the last time he would see them...

* * *

**Metropolis, March 29th, 1995**

With a skip in her step, a 8 year-old young blonde girl made her way down a quaint little street with welcoming family houses. She was impatient to arrive home, so she could show her latest accomplishment to her mother. She had worn a little green dress today, remembering that her mother had told her lovingly that it brought out her eyes. With a pang, she recalled the loneliness that had washed upon her when she was five, following her mother's departure. She had been utterly lost, suddenly left alone with her father, who tried to explain to her that him and her mother were parting ways for a while, but that he would always be there for her, and that he was certain her mother would make her way back to her eventually. It had not taken her long to dig up the meaning of "divorce", and she had kept hoping, every time she crossed the door of her home, that her mother would be waiting in the living room. She knew her mother had called and spoken to her father, who would answer questions about her, but she had never asked to speak to her directly. Sometime, after those phone calls, she would hear her father mutter something about meteor showers and things going awry, but she guessed that was his typically colored way of describing a failure.

Feeling abandoned had not left her reeling in self-pity however. The spunky little girl thrived on observing the people and the world around her. She loved to look at the passengers on the subway and guess where they were going. And, now as she walked down the street, she imagined what was happening behind each apartment window. In the animated city, she'd stare down alleys and wonder who was sitting in the shadows. Mysteries hooked her and drove her to journalism to find the answers, to shed light on the unexplained, to expose the truth. Whenever something cropped up, she never wanted to explain it away, bury it and forget it; she turned over every rock, read every book she could grab at the library, already masterly roamed the search engines on a computer for someone so young. She was fascinated by strange characters, closed curtains and dark shadows, and her insatiable curiosity tended to land her in precarious situations, but she never held back her tongue or her pen. The tougher questions always grabbed her attention, and the only mystery she might have shied away from was the one which pertained to her mother. Her father was easy-going and always affectionate, albeit often embarrassing with his incessant joking, but she severely missed a motherly figure; someone who would get excited with her on her stories, not just give her off-handed approval; someone who would guide her and inspire her, not just reassure her. She often felt a lot older than she was, and she happily stood alone and claimed to be an independent woman, idolizing Betsy Ross (first American flag, anyone?) and Nelly Bly (a trip around the world and faking insanity to study a mental institution from the inside - you can't be much gutsier than that)… However, the presence of a mother would have been appeasing to her and the void she had left had made the young girl aching to fill it with friends, but these never seemed to be quite enough. Then, two months ago, to her incredulous joy, her mother had returned with the intention of staying.

At the thought of her waiting home for her to come back from school, she sped up her walk, and clutched the newspaper in her hand a little harder in trepidation. Pain shot through her and she winced; she had forgotten her injury. _Stupid kickball, and stupid violent boys. I will never play again. I need my hands too much for that._ It had, indeed, taken twice longer to type her expose on the legend of the Lock Ness Monster. As the view of her own house appeared around the corner, the girl ran forward and burst through the front door, bee-lining to the living room where she knew her mother would be.

"Mom! Mom! Mom, mom, I want you to be the first to read it.", she proclaimed, brandishing proudly the _School Gazette_ of Metro Elementary in front of her. "_Long live the Loch Ness monster._ Mr. Hedgis said it was my best story yet, even better than the one about the alien abduction."

Pausing in her rant, she took a second look at her mother, who was kneeling in front of her, her face plastered with tears. Her face was strained as she listened to her, obviously trying to hold back more.

"Something tells me those aren't happy tears.", she observed slowly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so proud of you… my little cub reporter.", Moira admitted, looking at the ray of sunshine that she would once again be forced to shy away from. She had really thought there would be nothing wrong now that she had control over herself, she was convinced that her powers could do no damage here, that she could finally be there for her daughter again… "Chloe, I'm so… I'm so sorry." _I wish you knew how sorry I really am, how I wish I could be by your side to witness the great things you will do._

Not missing the way her mother dodged her question, and growing increasingly worried, Chloe pressed further: "Wait. For what? You didn't do anything."

Moira smiled a little to herself at that. _You really don't miss anything, do you? I just hope someday someone will guard your heart the way you seem to want to protect everyone else's._

At that moment, a tall man clad in a doctor uniform and two others walked in the living room, interrupting the explanation Moira was currently formulating. "It's time, Mrs. Sullivan."

Whirling around, Chloe looked at the men who had just addressed her mother. She turned back to her, close to breaking down in tears herself, her voice wavering: "Mom, who are those people? Where are you going?"

Sniffling, Moira tried her best to reassure her daughter. No matter how strong she was, no child could bear the burden of this truth: "Mommy's just going on a little vacation."

"By yourself?", Chloe asked dubiously.

"Don't worry. Your daddy's gonna take good care of you."

"But nobody goes on a vacation by themselves", the young girl persisted, her mind whirling, her heart beating frantically in fear. "When are you coming back?"

Having no strength to answer with a lie, Moira hugged her daughter tightly, letting the tears roll freely down her cheeks_. It's for the best, for her own safety_,she kept saying to herself. Not being able to resist, she unclasped the heart pendant Chloe wore; she had to at least have a token to remind her of her reason to go on living. She kissed her golden hair, and reluctantly let her go, getting up. "Your daddy will be home in five minutes", she told her. "Goodbye, my love".

As the men escorted her out the front door, Chloe stood rooted in place, and when the loud thump of the closing door resounded in the empty house, she fell to the floor, breaking down in sobs and grasping her sides to keep from shattering into pieces. Through the haze of her tears, she saw her byline staring her in the face, it was the only safe heaven she would find for a while.

* T.S. Eliot

* * *

**Note**: There were a few inconsistencies on the show concerning the time frame of Moira's departure. Chloe once said that her mother left the family when she was five (_Lineage_). However, since she appeared by her side when she was eight, it is to be assumed that she kept some contact with the family (_Progeny_). I just extrapolated that she had trouble controlling her powers once they developed and left, but came back when she thought she had gotten a hold on herself, only to find out that she could cause harm to her own daughter, thus having herself committed to a mental institution.


	2. What's Past Is Prologue

**TITLE: A Tide in the Affairs of Men (2/?)**

**Rating: R/M**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights. Kudos to Smallville writers and producers.**

**Summary: Exploration of the interplay of fate and free will in human life, from the early omens of Chloe's and Oliver's futures to their eventual entanglement. Will follow canon as a backbone, but fill in a lot of blanks, don't know how far it will go.**

There is a tide in the affairs of men.

Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

We must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.

_Julius Caesar_, Shakespeare

* * *

_**CHAPTER 2. WHAT'S PAST IS PROLOGUE**_

We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again  
(And by that destiny) to perform an act  
Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come,  
In yours and my discharge.

_The Tempest_, Shakespeare

Alas, the prologues have set a desolate scene for the actors to occupy. Though many acts are to come, and the chain of events is indeed malleable, it is much too easy to put the past and the present at odds, and in doing so, risk losing the future.

* * *

**Andover, MA, October 14th, 1994**

"Mr. Queen, we have arrived."

Oliver morosely looked out the dimmed windows of the car towards the imposing central entrance of his boarding school. The delicately forged wrought iron fences made him think he would be entering a welcoming prison, once again.

It was certainly much better than the manor he was forced to inhabit each summer vacation, surrounded by all those people passionately committed to being of service to the Queen heir - not that there was any genuine feeling behind their diligence - but all the while more isolated than ever. He couldn't stand passing through the halls that his toys once littered, nor lingering in the quiet living room once full of laughter, nor stretching his legs in the gardens still exhibiting the beautiful flower arrangements all assembled under his mother's specific orders. As the settings he had again felt suffocated in during the last months drew themselves in his mind, a sudden wave of nausea hit him.

He pressed the button to address his chauffeur: "Take my luggage to my dorm. I will be out in a few."

After watching the security guard get out from the passenger side and unload the truck, he put his head between his knees and took a deep breath. The truth was that he fled away from every single, tiny thing that was tied to his childhood. When _it_ had happened, after crying his heart out for longer than he'd care to admit, he had stashed all of his room's contents in the attic in a fury, except the bow and arrows that were locked away in his father's study because he should never have given them to his son instead of standing by him. He had asked that his room be redesigned in the simplest, most neutral style possible. If he was to be left an orphan with all these resources at his disposal, he would use them and abuse them for the vainest purposes possible - they were all he had, and to him, they meant absolutely nothing. His father's study and his parents' master bedroom had been barricaded at his demand since… since then. Worst of all, however, was looking in the eyes of his nanny, and coming face to face with the disappointment in them, remembering the vapid "I don't care!" he had professed to her announcement of his father's arrival that fateful day. She had stubbornly refused to leave even with his fruitless attempts to have her fired, fruitless as her contract firmly stated that she was to remain in position until he turned 18.

He finally composed his facial features, morphing them with practiced ease into their careless set. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the polished door of the silver Mercedes, and faced the grounds of Excelsior.

18. Right now, that number was the magic numbered ball in his box of fortune; as soon as he picked it, he could desert the family home, get himself a luxurious penthouse in the city to indulge freely in whatever struck his fancy to forget_. Memoria Pii Aeterna_, he read from the marble arc above the gates, chuckling he wanted was to forget, and doing something pious was certainly not the way to go about it.

_Well, my education is the only thing that can't be taken from me, isn't it Mom? Don't worry, I'll make sure to get it, since everything else has been taken from me._ After all, besides running miles around the grounds of the manor each day and those two visits to Alden and Geoffrey, he had just spent the entire summer reading. He was pretty sure to have memorized half of Shakespeare's plays by now. Wearing a mask, pretending to be someone else was after all what he excelled at.

Underneath all that anger, there was a churning guilt, but he dared not dwell on it, and tried to bury it as deep as it would go. Hide weakness by showing dominance. You can't get real love, so take mouthfuls of groupie love. _Love. _He was pretty sure that was not in the cards for him, even more sure that he did not want it, not when this is what it felt like having it stripped away. _Did I dream about saying I loved you that night, Mom?_ _Or, did I leave you with a wish to have no parents?_ And his last words to his father... His cellphone rang from the pocket of his uniform then, interrupting his thoughts.

"Queen", he answered, as though he were already answering a business call. _Well if I'm thrown the suit, I'll wear it._

"Oliver, man, where are you? Alden and I have already crashed your dorm."

Almost laughing at the mutating voice of Geoffrey, Oliver racked his brain for a way to brush off his reluctance to step pass these gates he had passed by exactly 5 years ago, only to be pulled out of the school the same night by security guards ushering him away from a swarm of paparazzi.

"Well, classes don't start until one o'clock. Figured we should escape to the girls' school for the morning."

"He thinks we should check out the skirts", Geoffrey said, passing on the message to his companion. "Yeah, man, it's a great idea. Wait for us under the sword dude."

_Right, the sword dude, as in the statue of the school's founder. It's a good thing my friends are dumb, they make it easier to forget._ At that thought, Oliver went to end the call, when a grave voice he would recognize anywhere sent a chill down his spine, making him drop his phone.

"Remember, Lex. There is only nobility of birth, only nobility of blood. When one speaks of _aristocrats of the spirit_, they are usually concealing something. Spirit alone does not make noble. Blood is required to ennoble the spirit. So, don't waste your time with those who are not of noble blood."*

Lionel Luthor and his bald son stopped as they arrived in front of the gates, having made their way from their limousine parked at the curb. Oliver, bending to retrieve his phone from under the car, placed a hand against the vehicle to support himself, half-entranced by seeing the old man that to him appeared as a ghost from _that_ summer. Today of all days, he did not want to cross paths with a Luthor, let alone hear his _Nazi_ theories. Apparently, the business tyrant had not finished his "fatherly" lesson. Turning towards his son and taking him by his frail shoulders, the man continued:

"You're a Luthor, son, you must…"

"Strive to become master over all and to extend my will to power and to thrust back all that resists my extension", completed the boy sullenly. "I know, Dad."

"Ah… But that's not all, you continually…"

"Encounter similar efforts on the part of others and must end up by coming to an arrangement with those that are sufficiently related to me, so we can thus conspire together for power", Lex finished once again, with a little more irritation. "I've read it like five times since you gave it to me for my 10th birthday."

Lionel smirked at that complaint. "Well then, for your next birthday, I shall get you a book even more enlightening. I think I know just the one."

At the mention of Lex's birthday, Oliver let out a light chuckle, remembering the one time Lex had invited everyone in their year, and out of spite, he had made sure to throw a big bash at the manor the same day, so that not one lost soul would wander into the lion's den. There was something unsettling about the Luthors, and it was not just the fact that they were one of those things intricately tied with those dark childhood memories. _We just can't trust him anymore_, his father's words from that night echoed in his head. He was involved in some business with Lionel _that_ summer, instead of staying home and spending time with him. Admittedly, it was petty to pick on the bald son for some sort of _catharsis_, but he made it all too easy. Unfortunately, having let that chuckle out got him the unwanted attention from the Luthor household. Lionel dropped one hand from Lex's shoulder and with the other led his son a few steps towards Oliver.

"Oliver", he greeted calmly, but with an undercurrent of hatred. _Well, he must be aware of the trouble I've caused his "noble" son. Good. _"It's good to see you", he claimed, although his tone indicated otherwise. "I haven't had a chance to talk to you in years, but I was in the audience for that last school play you starred in. You seemed to have inherited your father's charisma, although I don't remember him using it to intimidate his peers."

Hearing him allude to his father had Oliver grinding his teeth, and the older man seemed glad to have that effect on him, savouring the same reaction he had gotten from the boy at the funeral, when he had offered his _heartfelt_ condolences. Not only was the young Queen an excellent actor, but he appeared to be able to smell one in a hundred mile radius.

"Mr. Luthor", Oliver acknowledged, his voice not letting anything on about his inner turmoil. "Lex."

Lex simply nodded, glaring at his tormentor. His hands firmly squeezed the comic book he was holding, the gesture drawing Oliver's eyes towards it. He immediately saw red, as he was hit by the flashback of his old Warrior Angel and Devilicus figurines, that of the plane crash he was enacting in the hallway that night…

"It's been 5 years today, hasn't it?", inquired Lionel, somewhat absently, but to Oliver, it seemed there was an ominous certainty in his statement passing for a question, as though he was marking the date of some historic athletic accomplishment.

Not trusting his voice this time, Oliver simply nodded, but pinned Lionel with a quiet glare at the reminder.

"Again, I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

At that moment, Alden and Geoffrey called out loudly to Oliver from the stairs underneath the _sword dude_, and never was he more grateful for his companions. He hastily excused himself from Lionel, brushing by without a word to Lex, and then slowing down as he made his way towards the stairs in order to get a grip on his nerves.

"Hey", said Alden when he was within hearing range. "What's with Gloom and Gloomier?"

"Nothing, the old man thought he'd scare me out of torturing Baldie this year."

The two boys burst out laughing, falling into a familiar routine.

"So, you're ready to sneak out?", asked Geoffrey.

"Yeah, let's get the hell out of here."

*_The Will to Power_, Nietzsche

* * *

**Smallville, KS, September 15th, 2000**

Chloe stared out blankly through the passenger side window of the speeding car filled almost to the roof with all of her and her father's belongings. For the last 45 minutes or so, all she could see was cornfield after cornfield. One would think the bright sun might uplift her spirits a tad, but it only cast light on how deserted this place seemed to be. The journalist in her - that might actually constitute the whole of what _Chloe_ encompassed - fed on mysteries, had accustomed her nostrils to remain flared for the unexplained, the unjust and corrupt, and was currently mourning the dry patch, the fast she was about to enter in this godforsaken land of corn.

As she was cursing corn in all the possible ways she could think of, the car passed by the welcoming banner for the town: _Welcome to Smallville, Kansas. Population, 45.000. Wow, goodbye civilization_, she thought. _Meteor capital of the world, huh? Didn't dad himself allude to the failure of his relationship with mom in terms of a "meteor shower"? So, he chose to transplant us to the meteor capital of the world… Very wise, dad._

OK, so it was not exactly fair to turn her seething mood against her father, because his pay as plant manager would be considerably higher, but really, they were getting by just fine in Metropolis. This move had to be motivated by something else than monetary gain. Maybe the lulling call of nature and dairy cows had encrusted itself in his heart with age… No, that was hardly plausible; her father was as much of a city man as she was a city girl.

"So what's with the _meteor capital_ title?", she asked a little harshly, breaking the silence that had shed its cloak on them during the last hour, prolonging her father's distress at her reluctance to accept the move. "Creamed corn capital of the world seems much more suitable."

"That actually used to be the title the town claimed on its banner prior to '89", her father explained with a tone a bit to lively for the topic, glad to grasp at any subject of conversation as he was unused to uncomfortable silences between him and his daughter. He usually filled it with easy jokes, and she responded with wit and sarcasm. There was always love and acceptance in their relationship, even if he was feeling increasingly at loss at how to deal with the subjects a mother should tackle with an almost teenage girl, that combined with the fact that Chloe had the uncanny ability to normally hide any grief running in her veins. "That's when the meteor shower happened; the biggest humanity has ever seen. A lot of people died, even more were injured. Some still feel the post-traumatic effects, and no amount of calming hot showers can help them."

Chloe rolled her eyes at the bad joke, before asking another question. "So have you been here before? And I mean, not for the interview, but before the meteor shower?"

She noticed her father hesitated before answering, and it prickled her instincts. Maybe she should check into this meteor shower, not that she held out much hope to finding anything interesting in these endless, almost inhabited fields, but still, it never hurt anyone to do a little digging. "Yes. Yes, I have. With you and your mother." _Oh, that was probably what the hesitation was for. Darn it!_ "There was this cottage we rented for the summer when you were two, right by Crater Lake, as they call it now, also a vestige of the whole meteor debacle. They do say the meteor rock fragments have mostly been extracted out of the water, though. It's a nice place to soak up some sun and take a dip. You should go when you meet some people at your new school..."

Ignoring her father's not so subtle urging to get out of her head and to harbour some real social interaction, she chose to squeeze the subject a bit more, since he slipped her that hint about her toddler years. "You said when I was two years old… Were we anywhere near the area when the meteor shower happened?"

Gabe shifted uneasily in his seat. He did not particularly enjoy taking a walk down memory lane where Moira was concerned, especially since everything went downhill after said natural catastrophe occurred and since he could see how burned Chloe had been by her reiterated departure from their lives. He remembered all too well trying to make waffles that first morning when a 5-year old bewildered girl could not understand why they were, all of a sudden, alone. He remembered even more clearly finding said girl crumpled in a fetal position on the floor of their living room 5 years ago. Their house in Metropolis was haunted by too many ghosts of her lonely childhood, so when he got the job offer, he figured, what better place for a _renaissance_ than the one where their previous era of happiness, for all intents and purposes, had ended? Chloe, while always full of spark and energy, never afraid of speaking out loud, seemed to have become a lone wolf these last few years, never bringing any friends home, sometimes mentioning acquaintances in passing but rarely did the same name come up twice. A small town where everyone knew each other and stuck together would maybe make her feel more comfortable about bonding with fellow classmates.

Chloe had observed with narrowed eyes her dad's awkward movements, and when he phased out, leaving her question unanswered, she decided to press on. "Earth to Dad?". He jumped upon hearing her voice which put an end to his musings. She would probably strangle him if she had an inkling about some of his motives to move to the country. "You still haven't answered my question, Dad."

"Right, the meteor shower…" He might as well be honest with her, when she was willingly making conversation. Besides, she would see right through him if he dared attempt to lie. "I was back in Metropolis for a job emergency, but you and your mother were making your way back."

"You mean we were driving through Smallville during the incident!", she exclaimed, surprised to find out only now, angered even - it would have made a great article.

"Yes." When he caught sight of the saucer eyes Chloe was directing at him, he hurried to put her at ease. "Relax sweetheart, you were lucky. You drove off the road, crashed into one of the fallen rocks, but did not have any serious injuries. According to your mother, you had inhaled a lot of the powder that came off with the impact, so we had you tested, just in case, but there were no side effects."

"Well, I guess since I was one of the victims, I should go to the library and look into the bulk of knowledge on meteor rocks. I'm disappointed, Dad", she started mockingly, "you have deprived me of a killer piece for the school newspaper by withholding information. If you know what's good for you, it won't happen again."

Gabe laughed at that, happy to have found his footing with Chloe after the bout of bitterness surrounding the move. Not long after, they arrived at the quaint little house he had bought for them. It was surrounded by others that were similar in size, but different in architecture, and Chloe was glad that they had not landed in some Midwest suburb filled with cloned buildings glued together. After unloading her clothes on the floor of her bedroom, she quickly took out her books to make the count again. After counting them again and coming up with the same missing item, she bent her head, resigned. _How appropriate! The Tales of the Weird and Unexplained got spooked out of Pleasantville…_ She just prayed there was no crazy censorship at the library, at once impatient and unwilling to find out tomorrow.

* * *

"Okay, you can do anything you want with me for the rest of the day. I don't care if we go cow tipping or if we have to gather corn grains for the cafeteria, but what you absolutely need to tell me is where I can buy a copy of the _Daily Planet_ so I can keep in touch with civilization because as far as I am concerned, Smallville is just a dusty pit stop on my way to the big leagues of journalism. I'm Chloe, by the way."

Clark blinked at the blonde girl that had just rammed her demands into a barely ten second rant, finishing with her name. His hearing had no problems whatsoever and his memory was foolproof, but he had rarely encountered someone of his age who belted out words so animatedly. When he had been assigned to show the new pretty girl around, although shy, he had not given it a second thought. Usually, he kept up with people easily, and mostly, he freaked them out when he started talking about astronomy and philosophers. But now, looking at the 13-year old girl that wanted nothing but a newspaper, he was a bit stunned.

"Euh… I'm… I'm Clark."

"Nice to meet you, Clark. Now, on with my pressing request. The newsstand?"

"Right, the closest one to the school is down the street, just by the old movie theatre."

"Great! How about we head over there, and then I'm yours for the day."

Not even waiting for his answer, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the school for the break. He almost forgot the suppress his strength and let himself be dragged along as he was completely at loss at how to act. His experience with girls amounted to looking at Lana Lang through his telescope and falling to his knees whenever he was in her vicinity. Really, not much to go by. The green-eyed blonde seemed gentle enough from afar, but she was evidently a fireball. And so, it went on.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm sure cows and corn have their charm, but put yourself in my shoes. I'm undergoing a major case of culture shock here, think _Gulliver's Travels_." He opened his mouth to provide some reassurance, but before any words got out, she continued, and he just stared at her fast moving lips: "That's it! I should write chronicles assembled in a book titled _Sullivan's Travels_. Even if it doesn't turn out to be a best seller, I'll get to leak my frustrations out with the ink. I mean, really, you worry about rain for crops; I worried about the metro flooding. You herd the cattle and eat them; I heard Weezer at the Metrodome and ate it up."

"Well, I live on a farm, and it's not as boring as it may seem. There is always work around, and I'm pretty sure the sunsets from my barn beat those you can see from a building in a crowded city." He smiled at her, satisfied to have managed to get a few words in edgewise.

"Really!", she beamed at him, and he nodded, his grin growing wider in response to her contagious smile. "The simple life, plain clothes, rejection of modern technology kind of farm? It would be wonderful if I could see it for myself. I have never experienced anything remotely related to a farm firsthand."

"I didn't notice", he mumbled sarcastically, and Chloe burst out laughing. Clark was definitely the nicest person she had ever met; usually people ran away when she started babbling on without an end in sight, which was pretty much always, or looked down at her when she treaded her speech with what they deemed to be obscure references, but Clark, although still bewildered by her fast speech and maybe a bit uncomfortable because she was a girl, had not once cast a judging glance at her and listened carefully to her every word. "If you would like to, I'm sure my parents would not mind if I brought you along for dinner."

Chloe delightfully accepted his invitation, but there were alarm bells ringing in her head that she should not bank on having a loyal friend in the young farm boy. For all she knew, he was just being kind to the new girl as he handled the responsibility of introducing her to his school and town.

A few hours later found them climbing the stairs in his barn, and she had to admit, if there was ever a_ Fortress of Solitude_ on Earth, this had to be it. And, as a lonely thinker herself, she could really appreciate the cosy room.

"Wow. Sweet setup, Clark." Walking up to the telescope turned downwards instead of towards the sky, she decided to tease him a bit: "Spend your nights spying on any unsuspecting neighbors?"

Clark swallowed at that, and when she was sidetracked by the sight of his well furnished bookcase, he took his chance to turn the instrument skywards. "No, I like… looking at the stars."

Listening to the birds chirping outside, Chloe had to hand it to him: "I guess you truly are a gentleman farmer. Emerson and Thoreau have nothing on you." Suddenly feeling self-conscious about all of the bookworm remarks with which she had coated their interaction today, with a self-deprecating tilt of her head, she lightly admitted one of her sins: "I spend way too much of my time reading." _No need to tell him that it's not only because I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge, but to escape a reality in which people always leave._

"Actually… I love reading." Chloe looked up at that, and looking into the baby blues of the sweet farm boy, she felt a warmth that had been extinguished in the last few years slowly light up in her chest. "I don't have that much time to make a lot of friends. My dad keeps me pretty busy with chores."

Since he was being so open with her and accepting, she figured she'd risk returning the favor: "My mom left when I was really young. After that… I was afraid to make friends because… I just thought they'd all end up leaving, too. So I buried my nose in books", she finished with a little smile. _Now would be a good time to switch to a more neutral topic. _Walking up to the window again and turning, she remembered her aborted trip to the library due to Clark's amiable company. "Although, I think I lost one of my favorites when we moved: _Tales of the Weird & Unexplained_. Something tells me I won't find much of the weird or unexplained here in Norman Rockwell's neighborhood."

She heard a sudden whoosh of air behind her, and when she turned back, Clark was pointing at his coffee table. Walking up to it, she saw the item she had just been longing for. "Smallville's more than just dairy cows. We have a pretty good public library."

Overwhelmed by Clark's gesture and his whole welcoming aura, she impulsively walked up to Clark, and without stopping to think about it, kissed him. It was not her first kiss, but the other one was done on a dare, so it did not count. When she backed away, he was even more bewildered than she'd seen him look all day, and it made him that much more adorable.

"What was that for?"

"I know you've been thinking about it all day. So I figured we'd just get it out of the way and be friends", she offered lightly. Sure, it was part of the explanation, but the full truth was that she might just start harbouring a flame for her new friend.

"Clark!", a male voice called from downstairs. A few moments later, a young black boy carrying a basket-ball had made his way to them. "Oh! I didn't realize you had company", he said a bit awkwardly, looking wide-eyed at Chloe. She smiled at him, and extended a hand.

"I'm Chloe, pleasure to meet you."

"Pete… So… You guys want to go out and shoot some hoops."

Chloe raised an eyebrow at him. Kickball, football, basketball, any kind of ball really was not up in her alley since… well since _then_. "I could watch you guys and provide enlightening commentary, but I neither play nor cheer."

The boys chuckled, before Clark came up with a more inclusive plan: "How about we go to the house for dinner; I think Mom made some apple pie for desert. And then, we could head down to Crater lake, since you mentioned wanting to take a tour earlier."

"Sounds like a plan", Chloe agreed cheerfully, happy, once again, that he had been listening.

"Yeah, I'm down."

"All right then, let's get out of here."


	3. The Eye Cannot Choose But See (Part 1)

_**CHAPTER 3. THE EYE CANNOT CHOOSE BUT SEE, THE EAR CANNOT BE STILLED [Part 1]**_

"The eye - it cannot choose but see;

We cannot bid the ear be still;

Our bodies feel, where'er they be,

Against or with our will."

_Lyrical Ballads_, William Wordsworth

* * *

**Andover, MA, October 20th, 1996**

_6 A.M._

Oliver looked at the ceiling, unseeing, trying to savour the afterglow of his second time, and milk it for all it was worth.

The sun outside was reddening, and he found himself in the strangest state, having almost forgotten who he was. He could smell the musty scent of sex, of sweat, of sheets that should be washed; he could hear the hiss of a breeze rattling the autumn leaves, the creak of the wood at the approaching footsteps, the heavy breathing of someone beside him and his own, and all the sad sounds of the morning; he looked at the high ceiling and its elaborately encrusted motifs - and for about ten suspenseful seconds, he really didn't know who he was. Fear did not grip him; he was just someone else, a stranger, a human with all his senses awakened, and his whole life was a flimsy film playing in the back of his mind, the life of a ghost.

But this blissful moment where he found himself just living, swimming in the raggedy madness and riot of life, in its senseless emptiness with complete abandon and no conscience of self, was not to last. He felt warmth invade his side, and absently acknowledged the touch of a hand slowly stroking his chest, so he turned his eyes downward and, seeing the girl, was reminded of everything. The anger, the loneliness, the desperation, the confinement of the life he was forced to live, the snapshots of which would appear smooth and well-ordered to anyone who would look at him - the lens never capturing the night, the hell boiling inside that he would never escape. But he could at least escape it temporarily; these few moments were proof of it.

As the sound of footsteps grew louder, he realised that he had to get out of here, more importantly that he wanted to get out here as there was nothing more for him to take, so he sprang to his feet, dressed in nanoseconds, and, grabbing the lacy undergarment hanging from the chair not as a trophy but as a signpost for the backroom of his life he would not hesitate to visit from now on, threw himself through the large window.

* * *

"So after just standing there, rooted on the spot, as I jumped through the window, she dropped the blanket, and - naked, I might add - struck her head out and yelled at me to bring her favorite bra back." The crowd that had gathered on the stairs erupted in a loud rumble of laughter. "Needless to say", Oliver continued with a devious smirk once his audience settled down, "the dorm attendant knocking at her door heard her and she is now stuck in detention for the whole week. All the better if you ask me, cause her best friend is one fine piece of ass and it's hard to get her alone."

"Queen, you're officially my new idol!"

"Yeah, props dude. That girl is, like, untouchable. Her dad owns half the oil companies of the Midwest."

"That's my man!", Geoffrey's deep voice boomed over the chorus of kudos. "Alden, pay up."

"What?", Oliver exclaimed, looking at Alden, falsely affronted. "You bet against me? Ye of little faith."

"Of course not", answered Alden, looking at Oliver as if he'd lost his mind. "I bet you would have to work on it two more days. You landing her was never in question."

"Proud of your first lay, are you Queen?", said tauntingly, in a smooth baritone, a boy sitting lower on the main staircase, looking up from his Bram Stoker novel.

Some of the boys _ooh'_d at that comment, enjoying the rivalry between the famous, tall billionaires.

"Very funny. Unlike you, Wayne, I like to go for a bit of a challenge instead of jumping the girl who lost her virginity in middle school", said Oliver, smiling a bit at the perpetually unimpressed prince of Gotham, his accusation holding no real malice. The heads turned again toward the brooding dark haired junior as the ball was tossed back in his court.

"She did have experience. I find that experience is an arch you can easily build on. Besides, I had better things to do than pursue some Drama Queen. I just enjoyed the opportunity when it presented itself - took my mind off things", Bruce retorted offhandedly, not even a little rattled by the jab at his manhood. He had a feeling the whole thing was just for show. All Queen wanted was a distraction, and his whole daredevil demeanor could not hide the drop of sad desperation in his eyes, not from him, because looking in those eyes was almost like looking in a mirror, despite their differences. Oliver looked straight back at him, and for a moment, felt his heart clench; he did not want understanding. He had gotten good at enjoying his status and not questioning his motivations when looking for trouble.

"Sure it did", he remarked, putting the smirk back in place on his face. "But I'm telling you, deflowering makes the fruit sweeter." The boys all chuckled at that, having completely missed the silent exchange between the two.

"What are you all still doing here?" Silence settled suddenly as they all turned to look at their intimidating principal, who stood at the top of the stairs and addressed them as if he was barking at soldiers in an army. "The bell has rung five minutes ago; class starts in two."

Everyone picked up their bags in a hurry, and disbanded, eager to get far away from the man. Oliver took his sweet time getting up and dusting himself off, but as he got to the headmaster, he was stopped in his tracks.

"Not you, Mr. Queen. I have something to discuss with you in my office."

Oliver just nodded and followed him, not at all surprised that the word of his latest exploit involving the adjacent all girls prep school had spread out and reached the ears of the unshakable Terrance Reynolds. He was even enjoying the perspective of punishment. When they got to the large office, the principal headed towards the agarwood desk.

"Take a seat", he ordered, but as he turned around, he saw that the boy had already sunk down in the leather chair and was the picture of ease. Not that the fact should surprise him , considering his numerous visits here, giving Luthor with his eccentric nocturnal escapades to the roof a run for his money, but his indifference called for a new approach. He sat down, joining his hands in front of him, and just stared the boy down without uttering a word.

"Do you intend to make me miss the entire _Ancient Greek_ lecture?", asked Oliver, raising an eyebrow. Normally, the man wasted no time insulting him, on a roll before taking his throne behind the desk. "I know the drill. Spare the rod and spoil the child, so how about we skip the glaring match and I go back to class? I'm sure you have already called my _godfather_", he finished bitingly, as the old dog on the Queen Industries board that was legally in charge of him and called upon for such matters could not be farther from a father figure. His aunt had given up after the first three years of blatant misbehaviour.

"You know, what I find intriguing", started Mr. Reynolds, unflinching at the display of attitude, "is that if your grades were the only ones to speak, I would say you are a prodigy, Mr. Queen. Add to that your pile of extracurriculars - drama club, ballroom dance association, chess club, fencing team - and you would be deemed the epitome of what the Academy represents."

Oliver's eyes widened in surprise at the turn the conversation was taking, having no idea where it was heading, but quickly caught himself, regaining his cool. "If you simply wanted to sing my praises and apologize for my unfair treatment, Mr. Reynolds, you could have done it in front of everyone else. There's hardly a need to bring me to your office; I know you're a very busy man."

"Let's not fool ourselves, Oliver", said the principal, almost amused when his use of the first name brought the surprise back on the young man's face. "Your disciplinary folder is twice as thick as the one with your accomplishments. I'm just pointing out the inherent contradictions you present. You have all this potential, yet you're intent on assuming the mantle of the spoon fed rich kid only interested in having fun and, not only that, but you're playing the bully to hide the fact that you are more than a self-absorbed jackass."

Oliver clenched his jaw at these observations, his anger overshadowing his astonishment at his headmaster's newfound use of a loose vocabulary, as he had absolutely no interest in being psychoanalyzed, especially since the older man was clearly deluded. Maybe he thought that he could provoke him into living up to this image he had drawn up.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, Sir, but I do not orchestrate any of my offsides with the ploy of construing a reputation. If any of my actions have offended you, I will accept the consequences, but I am not a case to be studied."

"What are your goals, Mr. Queen?", Mr. Reynolds persisted, undeterred.

"Excuse me."

"Your goals, your ambitions, your dreams. What are they?"

_I don't have any, except maybe finding oblivion. _"I don't think these matter much in my case."

"They do matter. They draw you towards your future. Where do you see yourself five years from now?"

"No offense, Sir, but my future has pretty much been set out for me. I turn 21, I take over Queen Industries, publically at least as the board has a firm grasp on the wheel, I drown in opulence. It's very straightforward. I would appreciate it if you opted for such an angle."

The headmaster opened his drawer, took out a document and threw it at Oliver.

"See, I doubt that someone who just wants to blow his full stocks and continue cashing them in without batting an eyelash would write his term paper on the exploitation of workers in the Kashmir - very good work by the way. I want you to write a five-page essay on where you're going to be five years from now, and I want it on my desk by the end of the school day on Friday."

Oliver stood up silently, glad that the meeting was coming to an end and unperturbed about the _b.s._ he would have to pack into that essay - he was, after all, destined to be a businessman, so he had plenty of it in stock. As he put his hand on the handle, however, the headmaster called him again:

"Oh and Mr. Queen, this is not punishment, it's a challenge. You could use one. As for the stunt you pulled at our sister school last night, you are expected in detention 4 PM sharp for the rest of the week."

Resisting the urge to shrug, Oliver opened the door and found himself face to face with Lex.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here, Ollie?"

His hands turning to fists by his sides at the familiar nickname (he could have sworn Lex kept using it on purpose just to torture him), Oliver passed him by without a word, now positively trembling with the need to clear the premises before he added a few hours to his detention toll.

Mr. Reynolds frowned at the boy's retreating back before focusing his attention on his new visitor, who was about to be administered the same medicine as the previous one.

* * *

_[October 26th, 1996]_

It was a nice sunny day, and the boys of the Academy were all dispersed on the grounds for the break. Oliver was tired from the work he had put in during the last week to fill five pages of nonsense, and he had not had a chance to rest for the weekend as he made a point of throwing a party in the auditorium for which he had stolen the keys. A whole bunch of girls from the other school had made it, and true to himself, he was there to stir trouble and smuggle in some drinks he had paid people from the outside to buy. This whole new persistence the headmaster seemed to have in bringing him to acknowledge his so-called potential was incredibly irritating - he had a sort of raw desire to prove him wrong.

"Man, I am so screwed for the midterms", Alden complained as they were making their way towards the front of the building.

"Yeah, me too", Geoffrey added. "I haven't studied at all this week-end, thanks to Oliver here giving us our first hangover. You're just full of firsts this year, aren't you Ollie?"

"Don't call me that."

"Right, sorry… I forgot. I'm really tired."

But Oliver wasn't paying attention, the wheels in his mind whirling. He shouldn't let his friends down, right? Plus, the idea that had struck him had the lure of an adrenaline rush, and a _prodigy_, as Mr. Reynolds had almost called him, wouldn't be caught dead carrying through such a plan.

"I might have a solution to your problem, gentlemen."

"Our problem? Right, like you're going to fare any better", Alden noted, but Geoffrey seemed interested, knowing that Oliver never made empty promises.

Oliver smirked before laying out his suggestion; he had in fact started studying two weeks ago, during the night in his dorm, as sleep rarely took him, and when it did, it was laced with the same nightmare that had him waking up in a cold sweat when the big waves of the ocean met his falling form. As he was finishing his summary explanation and stating that the ordeal should take place tonight, they came up behind Lex and his only friend, the scholarship transfer student that got into Excelsior during freshman year.

"Wait, why are Warrior Angel and Black Diamond fighting?", Duncan was asking. "I mean, they're friends. It doesn't make any sense."

"Didn't you read issue 126?", Lex asked politely.

"No, I didn't have any money that week. Why? What happened?"

"Okay, so, you know how Black Diamond's father is this supervillain, right?"

Listening to the conversation, Oliver's head started spinning with memories of his childhood, so he decided to cut it short and get some payback for Lex ambushing him in the principal's office. He elbowed Geoffrey and nodded towards the pair with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Well", Lex went on with obvious glee, "in 126, he busts out of jail, and Warrior Angel has to take him down. But there's this accident, and the guy dies. And -"

"Look who it is, boys…", Oliver interrupted, grabbing the issue from Lex. "Weirdo Angel and his trusty sidekick, Grease Spot."

The guys laughed freely at what he knew was a distasteful joke from the sour taste it left in his mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The boy should know better than to befriend a Luthor; Luthors didn't have friends, they used people as a means to an end. What was it Lionel kept saying? _There is only nobility of birth, only nobility of blood. _Their whole relationship was a way for Lex to stick it to his father, and to fill the void of his lonely life at the school whose students had all heard the stories about him nursing _Julian_, a.k.a. his blankie, on the roof in the midst of a storm.

"Give it back, Ollie."

_Really, he "Ollie"s me again?_ "That's Mr. Queen to you, little man."

"It's okay, Lex", offered Duncan, completely calm. "I'll just get another one."

"Yeah, Duncan will just get another one. Oh, oh, wait, he can't."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. His mommy doesn't have any money. That's why he's on scholarship."

Oliver focused his attention on the comic book, to hide the fact that he was cringing at his friends' comments about Duncan's financial situation. Why the hell should he care?

"Shut up, Geoffrey. Shut up, Alden. Give it back… Mr. Queen."

Oliver looked up, sensing that despite his compliance, there was something taunting about Lex's tone, as though he knew exactly why being called Ollie was bothering him. Then again, he was probably imaging things.

"Sure", he answered with false reassurance. "You know what? Let's make this a two-parter", he said opening the book in front of Lex's face, placing his hands firmly on both sides and ripping it despite Lex's loud protest. The boys laughed even louder at Lex's forlorn expression - when he refused to back down, they threw him on the ground and his cap fell off, causing several students around to join in the laughter.

"Nice haircut, cue ball", Alden supplied.

"Yeah. Come on. These girls aren't even worth it", Geoffrey added, but Oliver had already walked away.

"Loser"

Despite being a few feet ahead, Oliver overheard Lex's threat: "One day, I'm gonna get those guys". _Yeah, keep dreaming_._ And if you get close, I'll have the satisfaction of beating you down for real._

* * *

The school was quiet and dark, as Lex and Duncan were descending the stairs. That's how Lex liked it most. No one giving him looks, or calling him names. The cover of the night gave him a sense of peace - unlike the bright light that shone all too sharply on his demons.

"What are you gonna do when you get out of here?", Duncan asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Don't know… College, I guess", he answered - his five-page essay was much more elaborate. It was the first time he had actually consciously acknowledged wanting to take his life into his own hands, getting out of his father's shadow, but no need to tell Duncan the details - he most likely wouldn't understand.

"Then what?"

"My dad wants me to learn how to run his business". Simple, to the point, almost no bitterness.

"Are you gonna do it?"

_Well, screw it, I might as well be honest._ "Hell, no. I can't stand that old bastard. What about you? What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna help people, like Warrior Angel".

Lex smirked at that. Duncan's idealism was admirable, and if he was honest with himself, deep down, he wanted to do the same, but he couldn't resist teasing him: "You better hit the gym. Spandex is tough to pull off."

"No, no, I don't mean like the cape and stuff. I'm talking like a doctor or a lawyer or something."

_Interesting._ "Lawyer?"

"Yeah… working pro bono for the poor."

"Don't let my dad hear you say that", Lex couldn't help but say, and this time his tone was way past bitter.

"Why? What's your dad got against poor people?"

"Everything. He thinks _poverty_ is just another word for _lazy_", Lex explained, noting absent-mindedly that Duncan was anything but lazy. Well, except when it came to social status - the guy had no care in the world about the way they were treated in the school, but Lex's pride would not let him be trampled on for much longer.

"What do you think?"

_Hmm, how do I phrase that respectfully?_ Turning towards Duncan, he said: "I think it would drive my dad nuts if I got a job working with the poor." Lionel's words echoed in his mind_: Don't waste your time with those who are not of noble blood. Yes, it would definitely be pulling out the rug from under his feet. "_Got room for a partner?"

Duncan's eyes widened, and positively thrilled, he extended a hand: "Allenmeyer and Luthor?"

"Luthor and Allenmeyer", Lex corrected, but shook his hand good-naturedly. He didn't do things in the normal, alphabetic order way - he sure as hell did not want to be second-place.

"Deal. Now all we gotta do is graduate in one piece", Duncan concluded half-jokingly.

Suddenly, a rattle from the hallway around the corner caught Lex's ears, and he quickly shoved Duncan behind the wall. "Shh!", he silenced his friend when he opened his mouth with a questioning glance. They both watched Alden jump at Oliver as the latter got out of the headmaster's office and Geoffrey kept watch.

"Hurry! Did you get it?"

"I got it!", Oliver answered smoothly. "Let's go", he said, leading the way looking slightest less on edge than his two associates.

"Man, this is too cool", Alden continued, looking incredulously at the photocopies in Oliver's hands.

Geoffrey had the presence to look around. "Sweet, nobody saw us", he mistakenly noted, before joining the other two as they disappeared at the end of the hallway.

"What are they doing?", Duncan asked, as if it wasn't obvious - well, to Lex, it was.

"Stealing answers to the midterms". _Gotcha, Queen_, he thought to himself. He could not have hoped for a better bargaining chip.

* * *

As they made their way back to their dorms, Oliver could not help but deflate. The momentary rush he had experienced in picking the lock, in rummaging through the files in the office and in copying the proofs of the exams dissolved quickly, as soon as he was out of the room, and there was not a single obstacle in their way. It dissolved because, like everything else he did, there was no lingering satisfaction - it was empty excitement, the success feeding his self-assurance, but not annihilating the basic purposelessness of his action. It was finite pleasure in rebellion, replaced by numbness because it was rebellion against everything and nothing, rebellion without a cause.

He bid his friends goodbye, and left alone in his room, dropped the squared shoulders and the cocky expression he sported - how the hell was he going to spend his sleepless hours now? Maybe he could climb out of his window and pay a visit to the girl that had rewarded him with a nice blowjob for throwing the bash the other night… As he was seriously starting to consider it, there was a knock on his door. Alden and Geoffrey didn't knock, maybe the girl had found her own way in, however doubtful it was. He went to the door, curious and a bit excited, but the face that greeted him was the furthest from that of the puffy lipped brunette he was currently lusting after.

"Lex?", he said baffled, before coming to his senses. "What are you, suicidal?"

"I'd lose the attitude if I were you, Mr. Queen", Lex answered in a low, level voice, but with an undeniably threatening undercurrent, "considering that all it takes is one word from me to get you and your buddies thrown out of this place."

When Oliver's frustrated expression was wiped out by one of complete shock as realization dawned on him, Lex smirked, tasting with great pleasure his victory; he was bathed in a delight he had never experienced before, and it was entirely liberating.

"Come in", Oliver finally said, stepping aside to let him inside.

"You should take smothering me with a pillow out of the equation as well, because I am not the only one in the know."

Oliver took a deep breath to tether his fury before facing Lex to deal with the situation. His life was not the only one at stake here: he had driven Alden and Geoffrey down that route, and though it pained him to admit it, his education was the one thing he stubbornly refused to feed to the dogs.

"What do you want?"

"Straight to the point. See, I knew that you and I could see eye to eye. We're made of the same cloth."

"No offense, Lex, but you're being the opposite of direct right now. "

"I want respect."

Oliver pretended to think it over; it would mean one less avenue to drain his anger, making an effort to exert restraint, but ultimately, in the grand scheme of things, bullying Lex was something he could get by without. "Done. You and Duncan will be left in peace from now on."

"I'm afraid that's not enough. I did not mean respect from you - that alone is meaningless. I meant respect from the whole school, and you seem to have cornered the market in blind followers."

Oliver's eyes went wide before filling with contempt: "You want me to act as your friend! I mean, I guessed befriending Duncan was a nice way for you to stick it to daddy and get over how pathetic your life is, but if you think that I'm just going to pretend that -"

"Sorry to rock you boat, but apart from expulsion, this is your only option… _Ollie_."

It took everything he had in him not to jump at Lex's throat that instant, as the look in the young man's eyes was clearly one of enjoyment over his pain. _He knows._

"Doesn't take much to get you riled up, does it? I'll stick to Oliver, if you prefer; we'll put it in fine print."

"You might be willing to live a lie, Lex, but I doubt Duncan knows about or will go along with your little plan to climb the social ladder. I suspect that, unlike you or I, he abides by some strict principles, like truth."

As he was saying those words, Oliver was surprised by the sudden admiration and respect he felt towards Duncan, but he had to bury it, because he could not, would not be expelled. Hell, the only reason he was still alive was because his parents were partial to him finishing and being successful in his studies.

"I'll handle it."

"You better. Now get the hell out of my room before your luck runs out."

Lex walked confidently to the door, still thoroughly pleased with himself, before turning towards Oliver one last time: "You should start practicing playing the friendly part. You've perfected the bully act; it shouldn't be much trouble."

* * *

_[October 27th, 1996]_

"I'm just saying we should think about this", Lex was pleading as Duncan strode purposely towards the front door.

"What's there to think about?", he asked incredulously. "We tell the headmaster what we saw, and then Queen and those two jerks are out of here."

"But we have something on Queen now", Lex argued, growing frustrated by how the simple arithmetic of the situation escaped his friend's understanding. "No way is he ever gonna try anything again. We could use this, force him to act like our friend so we can have some respect in this place."

Duncan turned towards him, looking at him as if he had come from another planet: "You don't pretend to be friends with somebody, Lex. You either are or you aren't."

Queen and said jerks were standing by, observing the development of the confrontation, and Oliver felt his heart clench when he realized how right Duncan was, but then the young man started walking again with determination: "I'm gonna turn them in."

_I can't let that happen. _"I thought you said you were gonna handle this", he proclaimed loudly, addressing Lex.

At that, Duncan froze in place and whipped his head between them and Lex: "You told them?"

"This is our chance, Duncan", Lex reasoned. "We don't have to be on the outside anymore."

Duncan was now thoroughly confused: "I… I never felt that way, not when you were my friend."

"Just listen to me", his "friend" persisted, blocking his path when Duncan once again tried to advance towards his destination, unfaltering in his resolve.

"Get out of my way."

Duncan having bypassed Lex, Oliver figured it was his cue to interfere, pushing Duncan back: "Hey. Where do you think you're going?"

Lex jumped in again, grabbing Duncan by his shoulders, and looked him straight in the eye: "Just keep your mouth shut, and everything will be okay."

But Duncan would not be swayed. "Get off me!", he exclaimed pushing Lex aside, and Lex, incensed rushed back to him, shoving him head first into a tree to the general surprise.

"Whoa!", Oliver let out, astounded by the display, but Alden and Geoffrey seemed much more invested in the fight.

"Get him, Lex!"

"Yeah! Get him! Get on him!"

As Duncan, stunned, fell to the ground, Lex jumped on top of him, pounding his face with his fists repeatedly, screaming: "Why do you have to be such a loser? Why can't you be like everybody else?"

For those few wild moments during which he watched and listened to Lex pummeling his friend's face - moments he would regret for the rest of his life much more than the pile of shortcomings that were already eating at him, Oliver stood rooted in his spot, barely registering what was happening as everything he had done in the last years unravelled into complete violence.

"Lex! Come on!", he said, slowly awakening. Alden and Geoffrey were coming out of their stupor too.

"Lex, stop it!"

"Lex, come on, stop!", Oliver ordered firmly this time, and having regained the use of his limbs, disentangled Lex from his victim whose face was now drenched in blood, blood that was dripping from Lex's hands.

Oliver sensed that Lex was now dazed himself, entranced by the sight of blood on his hands and on Excelsior's insignia that he been ripped from Duncan's suit, but could not let him go, his own face convulsing in sorrow as he looked down at the battered, noble soul whose life his selfishness had almost sucked out.

In the distance, he could hear Geoffrey's subdued voice: "Dude… psycho much?".

He released Lex, and looked at him with utter disgust, fear at having seen his sharpened claws come out, dismay at the showcasing of the dark vibes he had always, on some level, been aware of. "There's something seriously wrong with you."

But, Lex didn't even spare him a glance, as he seemed to be coming to grips with the aftermath of his actions, seeing Duncan stumble to his feet, trying to regain his balance.

"Duncan", Lex tried, taking a step in his direction, but the young man jumped.

"Get away from me!", he yelled, staggering away from them, backwards, towards the front gate. They all followed him, seeing that he was in no condition to walk out of the school grounds, but at a complete loss as to how to offer their help.

"You want to be one of them so badly, Lex? Is that it? You can't stand being a loser like me? Well, congratulations, buddy. Now you're their friend. And you can all go -"

Duncan was now stepping out into the street, and none of them acknowledged the sound of the oncoming car, but that of the hit would forever echo in their heads.

* * *

[October 30th, 1996]

_3 A.M._

Oliver stared at the ceiling, trying to shut himself down without much success. He kept telling himself it was an accident, but words he had overheard during the last days were plaguing him relentlessly: _suffered massive brain injuries_ - _we can barely afford a Band-Aid, let alone a team of neurosurgeons_ - _I will cover all the costs_ - _we lost him_ - _Mr. Luthor's expulsion hearing is cancelled_ - _Mr. Reynolds, your services are no longer required _- _there's always a price in dealing with the Luthors; remember that, Mr. Queen, next time you take the backseat_…

He got out of bed, feverish, unable to take it much longer. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep , but dry - he could not muster a tear, he had cried himself dry a long, long time ago. Uncaring of the roar of thunder from outside, he jumped out of his window and walked around the building until he got to the exact spot.

He stood there, in the middle of the street, as the rain came down on him, soaking his shirt, turning his knees to rubber, drops running down his face like a million unshed tears. Lifting his face towards the sky, he saw the clouds close in and felt them pulling him under… Lex's voice was loud and clear in his mind: _We're made of the same cloth._ He swallowed thickly, wishing there was a _mute_ button he could press, a way to turn off the sound of the punches, to chase away the sight of the blood… but there wasn't. _We might as well have pushed him in front of that car._

After what felt like an eternity spent getting drenched to the bone, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he read the text message from one named Blair: _Heard u locked yourself up in your room. If u want to come out, room #28, 2nd window on the right side of the western wing._ That's when he realized, he still had his own life to live - his own ragged, sad, pointless life to dissipate - and he should do it by not letting his poison diffuse to any other body, by embracing the glory of pure, abstract meaningless motion. So, he set out to find oblivion, even if it would only last a few seconds.


End file.
